


Self-preservation, really

by erintoknow



Series: Aria [17]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Found Family, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 20:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21277328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: Another day, another disaster threatening the city of Los Diablos. Only... this one is a bit higher stakes, even for the disaster of a city you call home.This one might be beyond your ability. Or anyone else's for that matter.





	Self-preservation, really

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a micro-fic blurb and i felt like expanding on it.  
[[Comeback Kid by Sleigh Bells]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiwcUdX7XMw)

_ They rose up and ate the EMP bomb before it could detonate_. Knew the Nanovores had some rudimentary intelligence to assess threats, but this was far more sophisticated a response than you could have dreamed of. Now what? Boxing the swarm in and dropping an EMP was the go-to approach for a Nanovore attack of this size. It had proved pretty effective during the Gulf wars that had seen the first terrorist Nanovore attacks. If this even was a terrorist attack. If there was someone making demands at the center of this, they hadn’t spoken to anyone. Maybe the nanovores ate them first.

Fucking hell, the containment line is starting to falter, not clear how exactly, the repulsion fields set up to box the swarm in are proven to work, unless – Grab her shoulder and pull her backwards, knocking the wind out of you as she falls back on top of you. The ground around the emitter, where Ortega had been holding it steady begins to crumble, dissolve into a shimmery gray mass.

“Mierda…” Ortega breathes out, helping you back to your feet.

“F–fucking – bullshit is right, the little b–bastards tunneled _underneath_ the shield.” You grit your teeth, holding onto Ortega’s hand as you step backwards from the rapidly approaching silver tide. Need to think of something, _now_.

“We need to save the emitter!” Elysie reaches for it and Ortega slips out of your hand to try and grab her back and it’s like watching lightning strike in slow motion. Stricken to the earth as Elysie drops to the ground, convulsing – _jesus christ_, and now the silver sheen is on Ortega’s skinsuit too and no no no. The ground at your feet is beginning to shift and that buzzing pressure clawing at the back of your head is getting more and more intense, it’s like a telepathic dampener but a thousand times more noisy, chittering bitey little mites like it’s the – the nanovores?

They have to stop, they have to _stop_, they have to **STOP**.

Your ears hear silence, but in your head it feels like you’ve grabbed a hive of bees with your bare hands.

Constant thrumming buzz, barbed notes cutting into you. You collapse your knees, the pressure building in your head. Screw your eyes shut and push at the sides of your skull as if to keep your brain from exploding.

Can’t read their thoughts – god, do they even have thoughts to read? – but they listen to you all the same, you don’t give them a say in the matter. Cold copper and electrical filament, the smell of silicon smoke flooding your senses. How does something so vast feel so small and yet all encompassing? Utterly alien to any mind you’ve touched before. Devouring – but no, not at least. Stand still! Stand down!

It feels like something bursts inside your head but you force your hands into fists. Force them back, off Ortega, off Elysie, off everyone, back to the center. Silvery sheen of metal locusts glaring sunlight.

Vaguely aware of people rushing around you. Doing what?

The cages! Back to plan A then? Discarded when the swarm grew out of control. But, have to hold it – them. How long can you hold the pattern? Someone grabs your shoulder, helps hold you out while cursing under their breath in Spanish. Charge? She’s alive, thank god. Can’t spare her any more thought then that, the buzzing demands your full focus. All it takes is even one to slip through and rest will spill out and it’s all over.

As some point it starts getting hard to breath, have to struggle to pull up your mask, not all the way, just enough to free your nose. Can feel something wet and warm run down your face. Are you bleeding? Great. Time limit then. All the will in the world means nothing if you faint from blood loss.

Don’t know how long you kneel there in the dirt, wouldn’t even be doing that much if it wasn’t for Charge. Someone is saying something to you, her? Words of encouragement, you think. Processing anything that’s going on around you is a little much right now. Something gets put in front of you, people talking again?

“–holding up? You’re ––– this, right? Holding them –––––––?”

Nod your head, don’t trust words to speak.

“They’re setting up –––– cages now, ––––step, can you ––––?”

Void Cages, a material the nanovores can’t devour. Lead them in, filling each cage, one by one. The first one catches people by surprise, not an orderly line but the wave of an ocean, buzzing with bees, breaking over the containment unit, sending men in uniforms scattering. But so by wave and bucket even a sea can be emptied.

“––––––!” The voice calls to you from a million miles away,right in front of you. “Side–––!” Can’t afford to acknowledge – if you break concentration, if you lose your hold, everyone here dies. Possibly the entire city dies.

Almost all of them, almost done. Each cage filled is that much less pressure on your mind. Your increasingly weak, dizzy, lightheaded mind. Just one more and–

You jolt awake, and your skull wastes no time in complaining. Head like a metal rivet was pounded clean through. There’s still the weight of acrid smoke in your lungs. Push yourself up into a sitting position and your vision briefly goes black before slowly filling back in. How long were you out?

Sitting in a tent, two other cots to your left, both empty but with signs of use. Moved but can’t have been far. Mask pulled up over your nose but no further. It’s actually a little hard to see with how the material bunches up against the visor pieces. If this is a medical tent shouldn’t there be like… a doctor doing medical stuff? Glad there isn’t but still.

Try to get to your feet and you immediately fall back on your ass again, head ringing. Too dizzy. Weak. That’s not good. Can’t be like this. Not here. What happened? Did you finish with the swarm? Is Ortega safe? Elysie? Everyone else?

Are you dead, maybe?

Try to reach out with your mind and – wince, grab your skull. A dull thudding pain from deep within between your ears. The fuck – did you sprain your telepathy? Is that even a thing you can do? Well, could ask the same thing about holding the nanoswarm. That didn’t make sense either. Something tickles the back of your throat and you wince, cough up a chunk of dried blood. Wipe it off on the ground, check your nose. Not bleeding any more. That’s good at least.

Lean back, take a deep breath, hold, let it out. Don’t reach out then, just… open up, let them come to you.

It still hurts, sore, elastic stretched too far and won’t return to its natural shape, maybe. But… pick up shadows of an impression of the minds rushing around outside the tent. Busy, focused, plenty to do, damage to asses.

Haven’t lost your telepathy then. Still have it. That’s… that’s good right? You should feel good about that. It’s all you’ve got going for you after all, right?

Light floods the tent as someone steps inside, anxious, worried, thoughts running circles around their head. Look up and find Sunstream looking down at you. Relieved, red-eyed, tired. “Oh thank goodness you’re up.”

“Hey Sun,” you croak, “w–w–what’s up?”

A smile threatens to break out on her face and she has to pull at her mouth. “We were about send you to the hospital on the next ambulance.”

Dig your fingers into the ground, swallow hard. “N–not happening.”

“_I_ still think you should go, but the Marshal ordered me to buy some time for you and it’s been–”

“Ortega? Where is she?”

Sunstream shakes her head, “Already on her way to the hospital.” She holds up a hand as soon as you open your mouth to speak. “Should be okay after surgery. She got off pretty light, not like…”

Can already feel the weight of the names in her mind. Something cold and terrible twists your insides. “Like…?”

“Elysie didn’t make it. A– A lot of people didn’t make it. God I–” Sunstream shudders, folding in on herself. Admittedly you don’t exactly have the closest relationship with the woman in your three years of working with the Rangers, but you’ve never seen her look quite like this. “When the swarm broke containment everything happened so fast. It was chaos. And I…”

“S–sunstream…?”

“We’re supposed to _save_ people, Sidestep. I couldn’t do anything. All I could do was to… to try and… ease things for people.”

Oh.

“And then all of the sudden the swarm stopped, pulled back, and now I keep thinking… did I do the right thing? What if we could have saved them still? What if I–”

“Sunstream.” You cough, pat the ground next to you. “S–s–sit down.”

“What?”

“Just s–sit with me.”

She gives you a strange look, and for the first time you notice the blood and dirt smeared across her skinsuit. You pat the ground beside you again. Watch her mind run through a flurry of thought processes before she makes up her mind and crosses the length of the tent to sit down next to you, legs folded under her.

This _really_ isn’t your wheelhouse, but Sunstream looks like how you feel right now. “J–just… d–do some– some breathing exercises with me. Okay?”

You barely get five minutes with Sunstream when more visitors arrive. Sentinel, flanked by Steel. Both looking in rough shape, but still standing.Sentinel glances from you to Sunstream, “You’re both here? Good. We need to talk.”

Something about the way he says that – you feel yourself tensing up. “Where’s Anathema?”

Steel stays in the entrance, in his full power-armor he easily blocks the way out. “Helping search and rescue efforts.” He eyes the back of Sentinel’s head. “Like we should be doing.”

“And Sidestep can help with that.” Sentinel gestures towards you. Steel only grunts, not hiding the frown on his face as he stares down at you. “But first,” Sentinel continues, “we need to figure out what just happened back there.”

A gnawing twist in the pit of your stomach. You shift focus between Sentinel, Steel, and Sunstream. “They w–w–went underground. Underneath the–the–”

“No, we all know that part,” Sentinel cuts you off, and you blink. Taken aback. He’s never interrupted you like that before. “How did they stop?”

“I–I–I…” You frown, “W–wait… Why are you… w–w–why are you asking _me_?” Can feel your heart against your chest.

Sentinel shifts his weight. Can’t help but notice Sunstream has subtly put a bit more distance between you two as well. “Charge coordinated the containment over radio. But, we could all hear her talking to you.” Sentinel’s eyes flicker down towards the blood staining your front. “And you were obviously doing something.”

Should have left when you had the chance, Ariadne. Now you’re trapped here. Three pairs of eyes staring into you. Questioning thoughts. You want to think it’s concern, or worry. It hurts too much to get a clearer read but you you know better than to assume that. Is it doubt? Suspicion?

Sentinel frowns, “You’re not in trouble Sidestep. We just need to make sure we’re all on the same page before reporters overwhelm the scene.”

You sigh, can feel your whole body sag. “I… d–don’t know what I did.”

Don’t even need to look up to know Steel is narrowing his eyes at you. “So you _did_ do something.”

“I had to–to–to think of– think of something to do – And I… I c–could hear them.”

“Hear them?” Sunstream asks.

“In–in–in the back of my head. So… I grabbed h–hold.”

Sentinel breaks the silence. “Sidestep, I thought you said you could only read surface thoughts, intentions, that kind of thing.”

“Th–that’s right.” You nod, sticking to your cover story. No one needs to know the full extent of what you can do. Keep recent events from sticking in memory, subtly alter perceptions. Nothing big, nothing drastic. Admitting to the Rangers being a telepath had been bad enough, re-earning people’s trust. Don’t think you’ll ever get Steel’s back; assuming you ever had it.

Still. There’s no possible way you should have been able to do what you did. To… reach into another mind and _make_ it do something? That’s…

It’s disturbing.

By the feel of everyone’s thoughts, you aren’t alone in thinking that. A hand claps your shoulder, startling you out of your thoughts. Sentinel smiles down at you. “Well, however you managed it. It’s lucky for everyone you were here. You might have just saved the city.” There’s a moment and you can practically read him considering what he just said. Sentinel shakes his head, “No, no ‘might have’ about it.”

“P–p–please don’t tell anyone.” The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“For once I have to agree with Sidestep.” Steel says.

Sentinel lets go of your shoulder, taken aback. “Can’t say that’s a team-up I expected here.”

You can feel yourself shrinking under Steel’s glare. “That kind of ability is extremely rare. If it becomes common knowledge, that makes Sidestep a target. Am I wrong?”

“I…” What is Steel’s game here? Since when did he start caring? “Th–that’s about the whole of it.”

“Well, we can’t exactly keep it a secret from _everyone_.” Sentinel sighs, crossing his arms. “Everyone here is already piecing things together. That means us, the mayor’s Guardian Force, the police, maybe some of the EMTs…” Sentinel counts off the groups on one hand. “We can maybe keep the specifics out of the press. With Charge out of commission that means it’s up to you and me to handle things, Steel.”

Sunstream is staring at you with an uncomfortable mixture of fear and awe. “You really stopped the swarm?”

Shrugging, you give a weak laugh. “I d–d–don’t think I could d–do that again if I tried.”

Steel snorts. “Let’s all hope you don’t have to.”

* * *

Navigating the press in the cool down of the Nanovore attack is a nightmare all its own. Never appreciated until then just how much Ortega had run interference for you. The Rangers don’t exactly throw you to the wolves, but they don’t physically put themselves between you and the all-too nosey camera crews either. Still can’t shake the feeling someone might have caught you on film with the lower-half of your face exposed.

The LD police were more than happy to take at least partial credit for stopping the crisis, but you had still been stuck with the ‘honor’ of having played a key part in the cover story for saving the city. Too many people had heard you doing _something_ over the radio even if they didn’t know what.

And now Ortega was hospitalized. Again. Not as bad as getting stabbed through the abdomen, thank god, but still out of commission.

These past few nights you’ve really missed not having Cat around. The nightmares have been making it hard to sleep. Or… not even nightmares, just laying down waiting to sleep and a sound of leaves crunching sets your heart racing.

It’s not until the weekend rolls around that you feel stable enough to brave the throng of people at the Hospital to see Ortega. You try to rationalize it to yourself that Ortega needed the time for the surgeries to repair the damage from the attack, but that feels hollow even to you.

At least your identity is still secret, though it seems like a cruel twist of fate that now you have to go about _not_ in costume in order to avoid having the press hounding you.

As you near Ortega’s room you slow your pace, hover at the edge of the door. There’s someone already in the room. A doctor? Don’t think so. Wrong feel for that. Who else would be visiting Ortega though? There’s still a queer soreness to using your telepathy. It’d be easier to try to spy a peak from the open door.

You peak your head around the frame and the flow of Spanish is cut off with a cry of “Ari!” from Ortega.

Shit.

“S–s–sorry, I d–don’t want to interrupt.” You shrink back from the doorway. “I can wait.”

“What are you, crazy? Save me from any more fussing, I beg you.” Ortega is sitting up in her bed with a clear view of the door. One of her arms is in a cast, but she urges you in with the other.

As you step inside, the other person in the room becomes visible. An older woman, a little shorter then you with greying hair, same skintone as Ortega. Is that…?

Ortega follows your gaze, and gestures between you and the other woman. “Ari, this is my Mamá. Mamá, this is my friend I’ve been telling you about.”

You want to dig into that, talking about you? Saying what exactly? You don’t get the chance, Ortega’s mother catches you in a crushing hug with only the briefest of warning thoughts to brace yourself with. “Gracias por salvar a Julia. Thank you, thank you.”

You freeze up, manage an accusatory look at Ortega who only smiles back at you. A little dazed. Might still be on pain meds. You try to step out of Mrs. Ortega’s hold and she only squeezes tighter. “Uh– De n–nada…? You’re welcome…?”

“Julia is always making her poor mother worry sick.” Mrs. Ortega finally releases you from her arms, though she doesn’t let go of you just yet, hands on your shoulders. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another, always rushing into trouble.” Now that you now she’s Ortega’s mom, the similarities are obvious, right down to how she can command the room with her presence.

“Th–that sounds like C–charge alright.” You smile at her nervously, shoot Ortega another questioning glance. “Um, s–s–sorry, how do you know I’m…?”

Ortega rubs the back of her neck with her good arm. “Sorry, Ari. I tried to be coy, but Mamá’s always been quick on the uptake.”

“My daughter has told me so much about you,” Mrs. Ortega beams at you. You mentally underline that bullet point about having words. “It’s about time,” Mrs. Ortega lobs a quick accusatory glare at her daughter, “I got to meet the young woman that’s so enraptured my daughter.”

You can feel the heat radiating off your face. “Uh– _enraptured!?_”

Ortega’s laughter is panicked, voice pitching up a little. “Mamá can be very dramatic, aren’t you, Mamá?”

“Oh hush.” Mrs. Ortega mimes a shutting mouth with her hand, “I mean what I say and I say what I mean.”

“O–o–ortega…” Your own pitches upward, “W–w–what have you been telling your mother!?”

“Nothing personal, I swear!”

“Nonsense, there’s nothing to be so embarrassed about, either of you. Goodness.” Mrs. Ortega still has one hand on your shoulder, a warm expression on her face, and knowing smile that fills you with a dread you don’t entirely understand. “Fine, I’ll let you two birds be. I need to pack myself a proper bag anyway.”

“Uh– b–bag?”

“Mm-hm. Julia needs to keep that arm still while it heals. I’ll be–”

“I told you, Mamá!” Ortega’s face looks pained, embarrassed? “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly you can’t! Not until that arm heals!”

“Mamá…”

The indignation on Mrs. Ortega’s face so perfectly mirrors her daughter’s that you can’t help grinning a little. “Aw. I th–think she’s being sweet.” Doesn’t she get how lucky she is?

“Not you too!” Ortega groans.

“It w–was nice to, uh– it was nice to meet you, Mrs. Ortega.” You give her a shakey smile.

“Mrs. Ortega?” She makes a face, then smiles at you, “A partir de ahora, puedes illamarme tía Elana.”

You blink. “T-tía? That’s– I mean– W–we just met.” The whole situation feels unreal. So much like her daughter, but different. Ortega always seems to be holding back a little, even at her most insistent. Maybe because you can’t read her thoughts? But Elana has no such immunity, and even to your presently weakened telepathic senses a clear and frightening level of genuine.

“And I hope to be seeing much more of you around,” She glances over to her daughter, voice gaining an edge. “Isn’t that right dear?”

“Mamá… I think you might be overwhelming her.”

“I– I’m f–fine.” You protest, “Th–this is fine?” You run a hand through your hair, pulling at the curls. You feel… something. What exactly it is you can’t name, but you feel it. Rub at your eyes with the back of your hand. “…thank you Mr.s Or– Tía Elana.”

“Thank _you_ for taking care of my daughter, dear.”

“It– it was n–nothing… self-preservation, really…”


End file.
